Fatal Forgeries

by Ritter Ames

  “I’ll go by to shower and change on my way.”

  “I could help.”

  “Have a thing for bad boys?” He waggled his eyebrows.

  “Would I let you stick around otherwise?”

  He laughed and the lady across the car moved closer to her shopping bags. Jack’s phone signaled a text.

  “Bollocks,” he grumbled. “Looks like we get you settled at the office and I head straight to Westminster. Cecil secured me an appointment with my first choice of members, but the MP is leaving shortly.” He thumbed a return message. “Need to give the heads up about my appearance, since I know Cecil didn’t bother because I didn’t warn him I still looked like this.”

  “Seriously, you don’t need to walk me to the office. I can—”

  “No, you cannot. We’re already one man missing, and I’m not thrilled about Cassie being under Max’s less than adequate protection. I will get you behind the steel door before I take off for Parliament.” He held out a hand. “Give me your mobile, please.”

  I frowned, opening the Prada to grab my cell from its side pocket.

  He worked without talking, pulling a page up onto the screen and setting a bookmark so it could be easily found again. “This app wasn’t live yesterday, but it is now.” He passed the phone back to me, and I saw what looked like an image of the small foyer off the stairs outside the office door.

  “Is this camera in the keypad?” I asked.

  “Right. If someone knocks, this makes it handy to look out before unlocking the door.”

  “Good precaution.”

  He took the phone back and tabbed through a couple of other screens. “These cameras are set up under the building’s eaves, so we have an overhead view of anyone walking near the building or entering through either door on the ground floor. We’ll also be able to view the files remotely if we want to see anything going on when the office should be unoccupied.”

  “And the four cams in the ceiling corners I noticed yesterday morning?”

  “Were already live, but now we have the exterior ones around the office too. As well as the ones monitoring the stairway from the floor below.” He tabbed a couple times and I could see the squared-off three-sixty-degree view of our war room. The train’s mechanical voice came on, and Jack said, “This is us.”

  We exited near the end of the crowd, then fast-walked up to the street level. The office was three long London blocks away. I caught Jack doing his full-out recon sweep as we hurried, dodging in and out of the sidewalk traffic, and I suddenly felt very afraid. No time for this, I thought. Stop it. I took a deep breath and charged faster to override emotions. In minutes, we were at the rear door of the restaurant and hustling up the stairs.

  Jack keyed the code, and I used the phone app to scan the office again. My subconscious was telling me this was silly, but my instincts kept saying “better to check.” All clear, and the lock tumbled to allow us entry.

  “Go,” I said, standing half in the door. “You don’t want to miss your guy.”

  “Yeah, you’re right.”

  He gave me a preoccupied kiss, poked his head in to give the space a quick once-over, then closed the door. The lock engaged. I was safe.

  Several files still lay where we’d dropped them on the closest table. I felt the headache growing and headed for the window, hoping to gain a little winter sunlight. Curtains hung to each side, but the wooden shutters completely blocked the glass and view. I opened one shutter and looked out, spotting Jack as he headed back toward the Tube station. I smiled, watching him walk with his confident stride in biker boots and jeans. He finally disappeared in the crowd, and I couldn’t help thinking he’d better keep his promise about the hair. I chuckled over the shallowness of my thoughts.

  I sent a text to Cass, asking her to contact me whenever Max let her take a break from the meetings. A second later, my phone rang. I expected it to be my assistant, overachieving as usual since I’d just asked her to call, but it was Whatley instead.

  “Hello, Superintendent,” I said, walking over to sit on the table in case I needed to write notes. “Is this about my interview regarding Halborn? Alfred, was it?”

  “The kidnapper, right,” Whatley said. “We still have him, though it’s taken some work. Had a right pesky solicitor. Your reporter is making his statement as we speak. The crown prosecutor will work on things from there.”

  My reporter. Well, at least I didn’t have to worry about my inept kidnapper being on the loose, though I still had the mugger from last night that the superintendent didn’t even know about yet. I started to tell him, but I hadn’t the energy. Not like it would have made any difference anyway. I couldn’t give a description other than “I think he’s a thin young man who took an interest in me at the Ritz after the kidnapping attempt yesterday.”

  “His statement should be enough to hold Halborn for a while,” Whatley said. “Between evidence of your kidnapping attempt, which is backed up by Mr. Ferguson, plus the graphic pictures of his injuries, it will make a good statement for first appearances in court.”

  “Thank you.”

  We had just rung off when my phone trilled again. This time, Cassie’s name appeared on the caller ID.

  “Anything new you can tell me?” she asked.

  I crossed my fingers and answered, “Just waiting on Jack. He has some feelers out about Nico. I’ll let you know if we get any new information.”

  “You’re with Jack? I thought you were way up north somewhere.”

  Oh, yeah, I forgot.

  “Funny thing happened. Jack came to talk to Marci’s father. When he headed back to London, I came with him. I’m in the office working until he gets back.” I’d tell her the whole story later, but the headache made me afraid I’d say too much.

  I asked how things were going, and she gave me her projected schedule. Then she said, “But the funder still seems miffed you aren’t part of this entourage. Max wanted to call and have you jet over here, but I told him you’re doing a little fundraising yourself today and dropped the fact you were staying at the home of Lord and Lady Menton this weekend. That pacified him a smidge. Still, I wouldn’t leave my phone on if I were you. You don’t want him learning you’re back in London.”

  “Good point. But I hate to be completely unreachable. Call Jack if you need us later for any reason.”

  “Will do,” she said, sounding a little wistful when she added, “Are you in the office sorting through the files?”

  “You sound like you miss them, Cass.”

  She laughed. “I do in a way. I’m so bored here most of the time, I wish I had something challenging to make the time pass faster. Have you found anything?”

  My gaze traveled to the pages stacked or hanging in various spots of the office. “Nothing so far, but I’ll stay with it.”

  “Okay. I’ll keep an eye on the internet bulletin boards. I wonder…Do you think there’s anything to worry about with no new messages?”

  “The video this morning—”

  “Yeah, but nothing since.”

  I massaged the back of my neck. “Let’s see what Jack finds out before we ratchet up our worrying, okay?”

  “You’re right. Call me when you have something.”

  “I will. I promise.”

  We said goodbye and I sent a quick text to Jack explaining why I was turning off my phone. I figured his was off while he reported mission findings, but at least he wouldn’t get concerned if he couldn’t reach me afterward.

  So many pages around me. I grabbed the closest file and leaned against the window wall, letting the meager winter sun illuminate the pages as I leafed through the stapled stack. I made some notes, double checked a few things, then dropped the file on the table and grabbed the tablet Cassie left there. Soon, I was back leaning on the window wall and thumbing through bulletin boards, looking for any new me
ssage from Nico. Obsessively making the rotation, just like I’d told Cassie not to do. Gaining nothing for my trouble but bonus time to think.

  Cassie’s comment about being bored stuck with me. Despite her agreeing to go yesterday, I still felt guilty about it. Those kinds of meetings were so much nothing, with Max and the funder talking old stories and old friends, then sprinkling in tiny bits of time dedicated to talking art resources and ways to help small museums and such places. Writing quick new mission statements for project ideas that would either be polished later or thrown out when obstacles surfaced.

  I remembered my first meeting with this same funder, how I figured out quickly that schmoozing the man was the only reason I was there. I’d had my wish list of projects to talk over, with priority codes marked on each one. He’d finally taken my list and pretended to read it, before he slipped it into an inside jacket pocket and offered me wine.

  While it wasn’t funny at the time, I almost laughed thinking back to my reaction. All my work and preparation, and the only things that truly mattered were my blonde hair and long legs.

  So, I charmed him with my wits and wiles instead. And got Max the largest check he’d ever received from the man. Okay, I may not have laughed, but I did chuckle over the memory.

  The humor did nothing for my headache, however. My eyes were starting to hurt too. Not enough sleep, too much stress, and way too many recent body slams took their toll. I folded my coat inside out, exposing the satin lining, and set it at the end of one of the tables. After I dug a couple of paracetamol from the Prada, I grabbed a water bottle from the coffee station and drank about half. Then I climbed up on the table, thankful I’d worn the navy wool slacks, and fell asleep.

  Shortly after noon I woke to Jack gently shaking my shoulder. Real Jack—showered, changed, and sporting a shorter but more normally dark hair color. It felt like I’d only slept minutes, but a look at my watch told me why he’d had time to return to his normal persona.

  “It’s after lunchtime already,” I said. “I like this look better, by the way.”

  He laughed. “Naturally you’d think of food first.”

  “I may have started speaking about food, but my survival skills made me recognize you before I considered the time. Give me some credit.”

  He used the reflection of the window against the gray sky to check out his hair. He turned to see his profile out of the side of his eye and frowned. “Shorter than I like, but less problem this way with changing back the color.”

  “I think you look very businesslike,” I said, climbing down from the table and reaching to unfold my coat.

  “You don’t miss my curls?” He grinned.

  Ah, those lovely dark waves on the back of his head. I stood on tiptoe, reaching a hand around his neck to run fingers through the cut. He leaned in and his mouth covered mine. I fell into the moment and he deepened the kiss, running hands up and down my back, pulling me closer. I was never so grateful for privacy. Finally, his kiss softened and I pulled back. He grazed my cheek with his hand, and his teal eyes held me.

  “Nothing like change to keep things interesting,” I said.

  “Are you saying you like my hair better like this?”

  “Not exactly. But I can live with it short term.”

  “Can’t ask for much better. Ready to get out of the office?”

  He held out my coat. I put it on and grabbed the Prada. “Do we have a plan?”

  “I do. Some of us work instead of napping.”

  “Some of us want to spare others from the bad moods that come from no rest and muggings.” I smirked. “Trust me. I took that nap as much for you as I did for myself, and for my headache.”

  “I’m very grateful.”

  “You should be.”

  Jack grabbed the umbrella Cassie stashed in the corner behind the door. We locked the office up tight and headed downstairs.

  Outside, drizzle pattered loudly on the wide pavement. We shared the umbrella, staying close to the sides of the building to gain any additional coverage from canvases and eaves. He said, “Let’s leave the car and grab a taxi. No parking problems that way.”

  “Sounds good. But lunch in the meantime, right?”

  “There’s a good fish and chips place on the next block.” He slipped an arm around my waist and we moved down the street to rendezvous with the favorite British meal.

  “Is there space available in your agenda for a side trip? Or are you overbooked?” I asked.

  He looked at his watch. “Got a call from my mate who’s looking for signs of Nico. He said he could meet in another hour. Aren’t you starving?”

  “Sure, but I’d also like to drop by the laundry where Clara works.”

  He nodded, but didn’t speak. Just pulled me along as the light changed and rain bounced as it hit the street. When we reached the other side, he asked, “You still think that’s a good idea?”

  I stopped and put my hands on my hips, feeling rain for a moment as Jack and the umbrella took a half-step without me. “What do you have against her?”

  “She’s a thief and has no reason to be trustworthy.”

  “She’s also a former pickpocket from Barcelona, and we need information on how to find another pickpocket who is in Barcelona.”

  The wave of people steadily broke around us and kept moving. Jack took my arm and pulled me out of the flow. He said, “We can talk with her if you like. But I don’t want to let her know too much.”

  “Will you stop acting like I don’t know what I’m doing?”

  “I’m not.”

  “You are.”

  He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Let’s eat before we fight. I think we’ll snipe less at one another once we’ve had a bite of food.”

  I wanted to bite more than a plank of fish, but I knew better than to say so. I’d bide my time. Instead, as we started walking again, I changed the subject back to an earlier one. “This guy you have searching the video feeds for Nico. He’s good, right?”

  Jack caught my hand and linked our fingers, but looked directly ahead as he spoke. “He looks like he still should be head boy in sixth form at school, but he’s the best I’ve seen.”

  “Sounds promising.”

  The fish place was shoulder-to shoulder patrons and equally noisy, making both of us antsy. Our meal was consumed at high speed and with little conversation. The rain increased, sliding down the windows in thick gray trickles. When we left, we grabbed a black cab dropping off a fare on the block, a lucky move on what was becoming a gloomy day.

  “Why can’t this job take me to Greece when it’s cold and dismal in London? Or maybe Sydney?”

  Jack laughed. “Don’t appreciate our winters?”

  “For a while, sure.” I shrugged. “But I’d give just about anything to slip into a bikini and slide into a turquoise endless pool set outside my hotel room right now.”

  “Is that a room for one or a couple?” He softly brushed my cheek and tucked a curl behind my ear.

  “I thought you enjoyed London winters,” I teased.

  “I’m a man who appreciates changes in scenery,” he said, his voice huskier. “And a change of apparel. What color bikini?”

  “A teeny white one. I have a black one, too.”

  His teal eyes darkened. “Yeah, we should see if we can expand the boundaries of this investigation.”

  A fast ride later, and we found ourselves in a boring utilitarian building and looking through a doorway into a darkened room manned by an intense-looking young man with glasses. Beyond trying to guess his age, he didn’t look like he carried an ounce of fat. One leg kept frantic time against the chair base, thumping to an imaginary beat. Video monitors filled the space around him. Snacks and soft drink containers littered all horizontal surfaces.

  When Jack knocked, the guy looked over his shoulder and said, “Hey, Hawk
es.” After he realized I was there too, he scrambled to his feet, nearly overturning the chair in the process. “Oh, sorry, didn’t know you brought someone with you.” He held out a hand.

  As the guys shook, Jack nodded toward me. “Laurel, this is Williams. Williams, this is Laurel. She’s…a friend of my sister’s,” he finished.

  I raised an eyebrow at him. Interesting. He gave a small shrug. I saw Williams’s eyes narrow for a second and realized he caught everything that passed between us. Jack was right. He was good.

  But an instant later, he acted like he’d seen nothing. “Nice to meet you,” Williams said to me. Then turned toward his desk and waved us backhanded into the room. “You have a sister? What’s she like?”

  “Engaged,” Jack replied.

  “Figures. Probably marrying a duke,” Williams said.

  I crossed my arms and stood so the kid was between us. “Actually, he’s a prince.”

  Jack frowned and got things back on track. “What do you have?”

  “Oh, yeah, right.” Williams spun the back of the chair away so he could sit again and pulled closer to one of the monitors. He spent a few seconds at the keyboard. A black and white image filled the screen.

  The shot showed Nico entering Heathrow, bracketed by two men and followed by a third. The man trailing behind was Rollie, Moran’s grandson. I wondered if Williams recognized Rollie as a criminal. Decided to wait and see.

  My mind raced around the idea of how far off my instincts had been. My father hadn’t taken Nico. Something else was going sideways.

  Williams kept the group’s image on the screen, hitting keystroke combinations when another camera view needed accessing. We watched them pass the checked baggage counters and go up the escalator. I searched for any sign of an escape attempt, but none was made.

  Seeing Moran’s heir apparent was scary enough, since we were supposed to be notified if Rollie stepped back on British soil and this wasn’t the first time he’d slipped the dragnet. But worse, Nico didn’t seem to be restrained at all. Just walking between the other pair as they entered the gate marked for a flight to Switzerland. We could see him pull his Italian passport from his pocket and hand it to the flight attendant checking documents before passengers boarded the plane.